


Donnie London

by SecurityCat



Category: Den of Thieves (2018)
Genre: Bar names are from At World's End, F/M, Mild Spoilers, Post-movie: Den of Thieves, he cute, i think, watch the movie first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecurityCat/pseuds/SecurityCat
Summary: You find a new face at your second favorite pub in England and the pull is magnetic.
Relationships: Donnie Wilson/Reader, Donnie Wilson/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Donnie London

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo why has nobody written about O'Shea Jackson's character? Man is handsome and the character is HELLA smart?? Anyway, have this one-shot.

Nobody ever believes you when you tell them you've never been to London. But you live here, they say, a good English girl like you and you've never been to London? Nope! Not once. It was a great conversation starter with anyone, from other native Englishmen to tourists and non-English residents. Sure you get tired of the same conversation, but you've found that no other line has the powerful pull that it has. You’ve even purposefully avoided going so as not to ruin such a hook.   
You were entering your second bar for the night with your greatest convo card on hand. Your friend Mel had snagged a pretty girl in the last bar and was still there, so now it was just you and Chris coming into the Two-Headed Dog. You sat at the bar and put a little distance between yourselves so that people would not assume you were together, but as Chris ordered your drinks, you scoped out the place and recognized literally everyone in the room. The Greek brothers were hogging the pool table (not actual Greeks or even brothers, they were friends who all lived in Greek street and played pool from dusk ‘til dawn five nights a week), Dan, Gavin, and Charlie were watching the match on the telly, six birds were holding the birthday girl up by her hair as she looked ready to vomit on her Eighteenth, and Charmicheal was already winking at you from his dark and lonely corner. Not tonight, you vowed. Very bad idea, mate.   
“Four pints mate, cheers.” Chris turned to you and raised his eyebrows twice with a knowing smile.   
You whipped around to get a look at the new meat– the bartender. He was exactly your type: light-skinned, immaculate facial hair, gold chain peeking out between the panels of his jacket. His eyes were heavily lidded and soft in their darkness, and when he smiled his soft cheeks became rounder in form. Your heart raced just a little bit as you smoothed your outfit under the counter.   
“Two pints for the gentleman,” he said, “and two for the lady.”   
“Thanks,” you said sheepishly. You’d been too busy catching up with Mel after her vacation to actually drink your pint in the last bar, so your buzz hadn't even started. You let Chris whisk you away with a story about his nephew’s rugby game and drank every time he referred to the referee as ‘that dumb cunt.’ Chris was good company, but his wingman abilities swayed with his mood. If he was looking for someone to go home with, his stories were short and sweet. It looks like he wasn’t, not this night. You’d finished your pint and got up to use the restroom. He was still talking when you left. Upon returning, you found to your surprise, a vacant seat. Your confused gaze fell upon the handsome bartender, who shrugged apologetically.   
“He said he’d be at The Dog and Pony.”   
You nodded, curving your mouth in a manner to express how impressed you were. “Usually he doesn’t notice! Good for him.”   
You took up your seat and looked at the three pints still untouched before and decided if Chris wanted to be pouty at the next bar, he could pout by himself for the next two hours. You let the cool barley brew wash away the bad aftertaste of stale beer from your mouth and realized the bartender hadn’t moved far. Now you had him all to yourself. No distractions. No one else was coming into the Two-Headed Dog on a Thursday night.   
“So,” you double-checked the bold handwriting on the name tag, “Donnie? Never seen you here before.”   
“Just got hired on,” he said, scrubbing lightly at some stubborn spots on a drinking glass. “You a regular?”   
You nod and hum into your beer, polishing off the second and pulling the third under your chin. “I’m from Bristol. Where’re you from, Donnie?”   
His accent was… well, it was English, but you couldn't pinpoint exactly from where. You worried for a moment that you were being rude, but the man shrugged cooly and replied, “I’m from up north a ways. Real small, you’d miss it if you didn’t have a map. My mum’s an American.”   
You gasped. “Shut up! So’s mine!”   
You weren’t sure why he blanched, but the expression quickly branched into delight.   
“Well, she was,” you tried not so smoothly to explain, patting down your hair. “She’s not, like, dead or anything, parents are divorced.”   
“Long time coming?”   
“You could say that again.” All of the rigidity melted from your shoulders as you looked into his sweet eyes, so much like black pools of chocolate. “I, uh, couldn’t do an imitation if I tried, it was so long ago.”   
“Oh I could do one,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.   
The thump of your heart against your chest almost made you swoon. “Oh, please.” You clapped your hands before you and begged. “Please, please, please.”   
Donnie set the glass aside and leaned against the counter. The intimacy of his proximity was not lost on you, and you hoped it was his cologne you were smelling. Even with the warmth his presence consumed you in, your eyes drifted once around the bar only as far as you could go without turning around. No one was watching you– even Carmichael had found himself enjoying the company of the footballers.   
“Alright,” Donnie half whispered. “What you want me to say?”   
You put a finger to your lips in mock thought. When the words came to you, you knew they were the ones you needed. “Say ‘You are so beautiful.’ Say… say my name.”   
You bit your lip and he mirrored the action unconsciously. His whole body shook as if he were shaking off the sounds of his country and adopting a new one, the one buried in his blood. He straightened, towering a little over you and giving you his best Ice Cube impression.   
“Damn girl, you are so fine.”   
There was sexual magic pouring out of his mouth and washing over your body. If he had kissed you, it wouldn’t have set you alight so quickly. Pure perfection, like he’d been talking that way his entire life. You didn’t even realize your mouth had fallen open until you tried to swallow the dry mouth away. The look of pride on his face was well deserved.   
“Do you,” you cleared your throat, “when’s your day off? Maybe we could get a pint together. Take a cabby up to London.”   
“Can I be honest with you?” He leaned on his elbows with a boyish look on his face. “I’ve never been.”   
This man was just rolling out surprise after surprise. “M-me neither! Oh my god, I thought I was the only one in the whole of Britain! You know, except for like the Scots.”   
Donnie laughed. He laughed in a way that leaned his head back and his large hand nearly covered that beautiful, uncharacteristically straight smile of his. When he could control himself again, he nodded enthusiastically.   
“I’m off Monday.”   
You hissed through your teeth. “No good. I got work. What about Wednesday? Bar’s aren’t busy on Wednesdays.”   
“Yeah, I can do that,” he agrees. “Where you work?”   
“Windsor Bank,” you blew a raspberry and took a swig of your beer. “I work security for the Crown jewels.”   
You missed it. Something flashed in Donnie’s eyes that you misinterpreted as interest in your job. So rare, to find a guy who follows up with questions that aren’t directly related to bank heist movies. You hang around until closing and catch a cab with Donnie, plopping on your flat’s bed with a new number in your mobile, a different future than the one you dreamed of...

**Author's Note:**

> I loved the ending and all the complex moral questions the story raises. I am not happy about One Death: Enson Levoux's. Fuck you, movie producers.


End file.
